


Dream a Little Dream of Me

by just_another_tinker



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/F, How Do I Tag, M/M, Non Canonical Immortal, Not Beta Read, Pinky promise, Presumed Dead, Team as Family, Temporary Character Death, There will be a happy ending, Violence, is that a thing?, its a constant forest fire, its me so you shouldnt be surprised, slow burn fluff, the angst is definitely not a slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:09:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28520673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_another_tinker/pseuds/just_another_tinker
Summary: “I wouldn’t get too comfortable,” the man - Joe - said. “We won’t be here too long.”“I’m sorry?”“Just a few months, maybe a year, if that. Just to make sure you don’t do anything foolish.” he continued. “We don’t exactly stick together for too long. People will notice.”“You’re telling me that you’ve all been alive for centuries, but you’ve all done it separately?”“No. Not always.”“But then what, people noticed?”The look he gave her was answer enough.Considering all Nile knew about immortality was what she’d learned from the movies, she was inordinately disappointed to say that it was a bust. Now, fresh from her own murder, she’s been thrust into a life she didn’t want, and surrounded by a group of people that will call themselves anything but family. Annoyingly enough, they aren’t too forthcoming with answers. Why was she dreaming of pale hands and cold water? Where was Quynh? Who was Nicky? What happened 100 years ago?And most importantly: why did the three of them think it was their own fault, and what don’t they want the others to know?
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 116





	1. Chapter 1

_I’m convinced my landlady is running a drug ring out of our laundry room._

His grip loosened on his pen as he finished the sentence. He had never really been gifted with words, not like the man who was the intended reader of his afternoon musings. But the very same man had told him once that his dry bluntness was often appreciated. He was sure to like this story. He’d probably even laugh. 

He didn’t exactly have any proof about the drug dealing, but he’d been around the block enough times to have a sense about these types of things. It did promise for a very interesting summer, considering his landlady was a 70-something Ukrainian woman that weighed 45 kilos soaking wet. She baked warm goods for the shelter during the day, cooked God-knows-what all night, and never had a single hair out of place when having tea with her neighbor the very next morning. Said neighbor who was also a unit chief in one of Amsterdam’s police stations. Her blasé attitude would no doubt be appreciated by the other reader of his story. 

He supposed that was why he was writing about it in the first place. Not for himself, but for the enjoyment of those that would read it when he was done. He’d certainly come across more bizarre antics in his opinion - and it wasn’t like he had a shortage of time to write more - but this is the one that would be enjoyed the most. 

“I respect a man that journals,” a voice rang out. “It means he’s in touch with his feelings.” 

He slammed the book closed with a thud, the delinquent babushka to be written about another time. His grip tightened on the book, the leather covering a familiar comfort in his hand. It was well worn and creased, the cover dirtied even stained in a few places. It was overstuffed and bursting at the seams, only held secure by a leather strap he tied around it, as it housed more than just the paper it was made with. Napkins, magazine clippings, paper scraps, as well as printed memorabilia were added to the pages, the book reminiscent more of a birds nest of collected odds and ends, rather than a scrapbook. 

“Relax, it’s just me.” He wanted to say that it was because he knew it was her that he couldn’t relax, but he held his tongue. Mila skipped into view, radiating beauty and foolishness, as always. She was wearing another new top, if it could be classified as such. The scrap of fabric seemed to be pasted to be body, covering minimal amounts of tanned skin. 

He bit back another comment. It seemed that the younger these kids were, the older they tried to portray themselves. More makeup, less clothes. But at the end of the day, she was just another kid, trying her hand at something she shouldn’t. She certainly had no business working in a bar at his age, but his boss had just replied with _‘she’s legal’_ to his voiced concerns, and that had been the end of that. 

“I didn’t know you were working tonight,” he commented idly, tucking the book closer to his side. He’d keep it on him for the rest of his shift, tucked in the waistband of his pants. For as nice as the girl was, he didn’t want to risk Mila’s curious gaze and sticky fingers. 

Mila shrugged. “Boss said it could be busy tonight. He thought you might need some extra help.” 

She was lying, that much was obvious. She was probably the one to bring up the comment to their boss, if only to get on schedule with him tonight. How she’s managed to convince him that a regular Tuesday night, not close to any major holidays, could be busy was beyond him. He supposed that was what the new shirt was for. 

Or maybe it was for him, he thought, watching the way Mila leaned against the bar, jutting her hips out. He ignored her, standing up and turning away to clean some already spotless glasses. “It shouldn’t be too bad. I can handle it.” 

“Eh, it’s fine,” she replied, her voice dripping with fake disinterest. “I’m already here, so might as well get some tips.” 

He hummed, hoping she’d take the hint and leave. She didn’t; she never did. Mila had started working at the bar a little over a month ago.

He had been there when she’d been hired. She’d taken one look at him - far too long for his liking - and that had been it. She followed him around like a lost duckling, grasping onto every word like he was Moses himself. It was sad, and while he never encouraged her fruitless venture, he knew he could be more obvious about it if he wanted. However, considering Mila’s other option to present affection to was Levi, the talking sewer rat that would take Mila up on her unspoken offer without so much as a blink, only to leave her in the trash when he got bored, he decided that he would let her keep attempting on him. 

Mila hopped on the bar top, her legs swinging freely. She didn’t offer to help, but then again, she never did. Instead, she plucked one of the glasses he was cleaning out of his hands, only to reach across his body to fill the cup from the tap. Her chest brushed blatantly across his own, and _wow, she is really trying today,_ he thought with a sigh. 

“Want some?” she asked, far too close to his ear for his liking. She took a large swig herself, keeping eye contact with him as if saying ‘ _look what I can do!’._ He rolled his eyes. _Child._

“My answer is the same as yesterday,” he said. “No thanks.” 

Mila narrowed her eyes and glared at him, like he was a puzzle she was intent on solving. It was another pointless venture. She could never finish the picture when he was hiding some of the pieces. 

“What were you writing about?” she asked, tossing her perfectly styled hair over her shoulder. 

“Nothing interesting.”

“I doubt that,” she giggled. 

“I am anything but interesting.” 

“People who say that mean the opposite.” Her eyes twinkled as she leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand.

“Is that so?” he asked dryly. 

“I mean, a bartender who doesn’t drink? That's pretty interesting.” 

He didn’t answer. He grabbed another glass and started to wipe it down. “The reasons for why he doesn’t drink are none of my concern.” He looked up and saw his boss step poke his head out from his office door, his rotund body filling the whole door frame. “I’m content enough knowing that I won’t find him out here drinking the merchandise.” He glared at Mila. 

“Sorry,” she pouted, fawning her eyelashes. “You don’t mind, do you?” He shook his head, his grip on the glass tightening. He wished, for a moment, that it would shatter, the shards embedding deep into his hand. Anything to distract him from another depleting day of work, surrounded my drunken fools and nosey coworkers. 

“I’m not feeling too well.” It just slipped out, and two pairs of eyes gaped at him in confusion. He ignored Mila to look at his boss. “Can I head out early tonight?” 

He didn’t think he’d even taken time off; not that he could remember. There really wasn't a point for him; it wasn’t as if he had any other hobbies. His boss knew this, which explained his furrowed brow. _Come on, throw me a bone,_ he thought. _I can’t deal with this shit. Not tonight._

Finally, his boss nodded. “I can get Levi to close for you if you’re that out of sorts.” 

“Thanks,” he answered. His boss turned without another word and headed back into his office, no doubt to call Levi that he would need to come in later tonight. The asshole would be pissed, he guaranteed it. _Good._

“You didn’t tell me you were sick.” Mila’s tone was sour. She was also pissed by the sound of it, upset at the promise of a full evening spent with him dashed. 

_I don’t tell you a lot of things,_ he wanted to say. Instead, he just shrugged, nodding towards the open bar. “You should probably wipe down the tables. We’re opening soon.”

* * *

* * *

_“Nile, there’s not even a scratch.”_

She was antsy. She wrung her hands together, tapped her fingers on her uniform, bounced from one foot to the other. 

She’d already walked the perimeter of the base three times, trying to drown out the noise of her own thoughts with some Frank Ocean, ignoring the itch to scratch at her neck. She’d left Jay and Dizzy in the medical tent, but she could still see the looks on their faces. It was one no doubt reflected on her own when she’d first seen her wound. _Or lack thereof,_ she corrected. 

She didn’t know how to answer their questions. No one had been able to answer hers. She’d lied to Dizzy. It was true that the doctor had told Nile that they’d used a new skin graft, but it was a lie all the same. She knew it was because she’d seen the doctor’s face when he told her; it was the same as the rest of theirs. 

Nile remembered the glint of steel, the fire it created as it slashed across her skin. She remembered Dizzy leaning over her, screaming words she didn’t hear. She remembered the taste of her own blood. And that had been it. There was nothing else that happened that could explain why she was alive and whole, like nothing had happened at all. 

Well, not exactly. She’d dreamed. 

Of water, at first. She couldn’t see it - she couldn’t see anything but blackness - but she felt the way it blanketed her body. Cold and completely silent, wrapping around her like the icy grip of Death. She’d thought, if just for a second, that she was dead, and the void surrounding her all the afterlife had to offer. But then she’d been yanked away, as if someone was pulling her from the depths of the sea. 

But she didn’t wake, but instead, switched scenes. The numbness of the water was gone, the cold and quiet replaced by a soft bass of pumping music, clinking glasses, and bright laughter. She saw a reflection in some glasses, a reflection that should have been hers, but instead it was a man, his face tired and worn. His eyes were glued to the drink he poured, his lips licking at the beer filling the glass. 

Again, she was pulled away, and when Nile turned, she was outside, watching a figure walk away from her. The frame was tall and lithe, a woman, with a backpack over one shoulder, her steps graceful and sure as they danced across the cobbled street. Nile wasn’t sure why, but she tried to follow the mysterious woman, reaching out to grab her hand. 

But as soon as she was close, the woman disappeared, and the street morphed into a bedroom. It was dimly lit and disorderly. She could hear faint blares from car horns, but her attention was stuck on the man across the room from her. He sat in a solitary chair, staring out of the open window. She couldn’t see his face, but saw how the sun haloed around his curls and the slump of his shoulders. _“Who are you?”_ she wanted to ask. But no words came. Instead, she watched the man watch the street until even he was gone, and then she was gasping awake in the medical tent, tears fresh on her cheek. 

She wasn’t sure what the dreams meant, if anything. _Just another question to be had,_ she thought. Nile felt herself wringing her hands again. She pinched her skin tightly, and felt her feet moving of their own volition, trailing the outskirts of the base again. 

“Rough day at the office?” 

Nile startled, spinning on her heels. “Sergeant,” she answered weakly. 

Sergeant Tan stared at her. “Freeman,” she replied, smirking. Nile tried not to squirm under her piercing gaze. The linguist always managed to put Nile on edge, anyone really, if asked. Sergeant Tan was smaller than Nile was, but could manage to steal the air from any room she was in. She was undoubtedly brilliant with a silver tipped tongue to match. 

Being honest, Nile would probably like Sergeant Tan if she wasn’t so terrifying. She was damn good at her job, and reliable at that. Every language sounded beautiful on her tongue. She was gentle and considerate for the locals, teasing with her squad, and unforgivingly blunt to those deserving of it. Nile had witnessed her spit fire at a few male corporals twice her size until they were as ashen as the sand. 

But there was something more about her that had made red flags dance in her head whenever Tan was around. Superior officer or not, she didn’t like to linger around Tan for too long. 

“You look good, considering what I heard happened.” Nile bit the inside of her lip, but didn’t respond. “Sounds like a miracle,” Tan continued idly, her eyes narrowed in on Nile’s neck. She fought the urge to pull up her fatigues.

“It wasn’t that bad.” 

“That’s not what Corporal Ali told me,” Tan replied. Nile froze. _What the hell had Dizzy said to Tan?_ She’d seen the look she’d given Nile in the medical tent. The look she gave when she saw that there was no wound on her neck. 

“I got lucky,” Nile grit out. “I don’t understand why that’s such a bad thing.” 

“Miracles _are_ bad things,” Tan answered. “Because they don’t come free.” 

“Is there something that you need from me, Sergeant?” 

Tan frowned, giving Nile a long look. It was different from the one she’d gotten from her friends, or from the doctor. This one was calculating, and paired with Tan’s usual _‘I know more than you’_ gaze. “I’m glad you’re alright, Freeman,” Tan answered, slowly. It clearly wasn’t what she wanted to say, but Tan was smart enough to know that she wasn’t going to get anything else out of Nile. 

She stepped past Nile silently, leaving her alone with her thoughts. The day was ending, and she wasn’t sure what she was going to do. She knew sleep wasn’t going to find her anytime soon, and she didn’t really want to sit through her friends’ questions and lingering gazes. More than ever, she wanted her mom next to her. She’d take one look at Nile and have all the answers. 

But her mother wasn’t here. She was alone. 

_“I’m glad you’re alright, Freeman,”_ Tan had said. 

_Was she alright?_

* * *

* * *

He gasped awake, reaching for a wound on his neck that he knew wouldn’t be there. He retched, curling his larger frame into a ball. His body trembled, still feeling the heat from the sun, still tasting the blood on lips that weren’t his. 

He moaned, throwing a hand over his face and wiping the remnants from the dream from his eyes. The room was dark, night still hanging in the sky. He hadn’t been asleep for long, then. A glance at the clock on his nightstand confirmed it; he’d barely been home for an hour since leaving his shift at the bar. 

His body didn’t seem to care about the sleep that he desperately needed, instead charging full steam ahead into delivering the message. With how quick the dream had come to him, it must have happened earlier, and his subconscious was catching him up to everything he’d missed while he was awake, replaying the scene like an answering machine in his brain. 

Those thoughts were immediately discarded for the subject of the dream. He’d seen no movies recently with similar scenes, or had any memories that shared the same theme. 

It wasn’t his life he was watching, it was someone else's. 

_Another one._

“Fuck,” he whispered. He ran his hands through his hair, tugging on the greasy strands. They hadn’t talked about what to do with a new one. Well, they had, but only once. 

_“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”_

It was never mentioned again. At that point, there was barely anything discussed between the three of them anymore. Decisions were made in the heat of the moment and followed through without a second thought. They’d been too shattered to bother questioning them. 

Even the ones that were left dangling open, like loose threads. _We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it._ There had been no need for anything more than that. If there was one thing that he thought amusing about their immortality, it was their unspoken appreciation of procrastination. When the decision had been made, the ‘bridge’ of a new immortal was years away, not even a speck on their radar. They would have plenty of time to come up with a better plan, or they’d finally be dead and wouldn’t have to deal with it. 

Time had a different meaning to them. There had been a stretch of over seven hundred years before he had been “born”. The stretch before him had lasted millennium. 

He had assumed it would have been a shorter wait, based on the trend. He had a theory that it was based around population. The world seemed to shrink but humanity was still growing like an errant weed, running rampant across the globe. While their _affliction_ was vastly improbable, statistically speaking, the chances for a new one would increase as the pooling area grew. They were just the poor few sods that had gotten lucky. 

But it had barely been two hundred years since him. _Too quick._ It couldn’t be time. It was too soon.

True to its fashion, time laughed at him. _You don’t make the rules here,_ it said. _I do._

He rubbed at his eyes again. She had been young, whomever she was. As young as Mila, if not younger. He’d seen her wide eyes and gaping mouth; he’d seen the blood pooling around her throat. She’d been wearing a uniform. Military, probably. 

He knew there was more there, but the rest of the dream was distorted, blurred around the edges. All he could see was her face, pained and terrified, staring back at him. _Alone._

_“You shouldn't have bothered to find me. I don’t want this life. I have one of my own already.”_

_“We aren’t meant to be alone.”_

_“I’m not alone. I have my family, I don’t need you here.”_

_“Well, if it’s all the same to you, I’ll stay anyway. Just in case you change your mind.”_

He groaned, shaking himself from his memory and the ghost that had shared it with him. 

“Don’t start,” he said to the empty room, swinging his feet over his mattress to stand. He wasn’t stupid. He knew the real reason they’d never discussed a plan for a new immortal was because there never would be one. The threat of an addition was inevitable, but it was a taunt of a life they couldn’t afford to have anymore, a dangling carrot they knew they couldn’t take. 

He wondered, as he always did, what the others were thinking. Where they were, what they were doing. As he’d previously been the youngest out of the group, he’d never experienced this part. In a past lifetime, this would be the part where he’d gather his belongings and decipher the dreams with the others until they found the new one. 

But not now. Now, he wished he’d remembered more of the dream just to make sure he could head in the opposite direction. Now, he wished for a drink. 

Itching for something to do, he sprung to his feet and walked over to his backpack, resting against the back wall where he’d deposited it after his shift. He pulled out his journal and flipped to a clean page. There were so few left - he’d have to purchase another one soon. 

_What should I do?_ he wrote. He wasn’t sure why; he wouldn’t get a response, not for years. Knowing the others, they’d probably ignore the question entirely, focusing on this landlady’s drug ring instead. As if this was a problem that could just be ignored. 

_Like the problem of your other dreams that you ignored?_

He disregarded the taunting remark. He hadn’t dreamed of the drowning in decades. And even when he had the dream, they’d been coming so infrequently at that point that they were cast aside. “Those dreams faded.” He wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince. “Those dreams faded,” he repeated. “Just as these will.” 

_Just as these will._ Because isn’t that what they were going to do? What they were always going to do, but had been too ashamed to say? Ignore it, keep pushing forward. A lot of their problems had been solved that way. 

Keep pushing forward and stay away from Bulgaria for a few decades. They’ll all die out eventually. Keep pushing forward and ignore the feeling of your muscles reforming. The pain will go away eventually. Keep pushing forward and turn a blind eye on the new immortal. The dreams will fade eventually. 

Keep pushing forward and forget what happened in Germany. His ghost will disappear eventually. 

But the ghost hadn’t gone, yet. If he closed his eyes, he could almost feel the heat of a gaze he hadn’t felt in decades. He could imagine what the ghost would say if here. 

_“They’re all gone, now.” He could feel the cold from the gravestone seeping through his clothes, burrowing into his bones._

_“I’m not.”_

_He wanted to scream or curse, to do anything he’d done hundreds of times before. But he couldn’t, not this time. Instead, he looked up and pleaded. “Will you stay?”_

_The answering smile was kinder than he ever deserved. Warmth spread from where the voice settled next to him, seeping the cold from the grave right out of him. “For as long as you’ll have me. It’s as I told you; we aren’t meant to be alone.”_

He could have laughed. _I’m alone, now. What do you have to say about that?_ He pictured a disapproving frown and narrowed eyes. 

He groaned, rubbing at his temples. What was he to do? What would the others do, if they were here? The journal revealed no answers and he tossed it aside with a huff. For once, he didn’t have the luxury of waiting around years for a response. The new immortal turned their whole plan on its axis, and needed to be dealt with immediately. _How the hell was he -_ he froze, eyes widening. 

He dug through his backpack again, pulling out a small flip phone. He thumbed it on, knowing that it would be fully charged. Even though it was never used, he charged it almost daily. _Just in case._

He’d had it for a few years, now. Practically brand new to him, replacing the predecessors that came before it as technology advanced. It wouldn’t be long before this model was switched for a sleek touch screen. 

The home screen came to life, and he opened his contact folder. Two numbers stared back at him. The phone numbers had changed over the years, just as the phone they were saved on did. He could still remember when all he had was a scrap of paper with the first numbers scribbled on them, gripped tightly in his hand, constantly afraid that he’d lose it. 

And while decades had passed and the phones and numbers changed, the voices on the other end of the line remained the same. Or they would, if he’d ever called them. The idea of having the numbers was not for him to use them, but just for him to know that he had them. 

_“Here, take this.” He looked at the paper shoved in his hands. “In case of emergency.”_

_“What qualifies as an emergency?”_

It was another question that hadn’t been answered, and he was happy for it. Probably because he didn’t like to think about the answer. In reality, there wasn’t an emergency that would be problematic enough to use the numbers. After everything that had happened, there wasn’t anything that could possibly be worse. The numbers were false platitudes, but he was more than happy to hold onto them all the same. It was nice knowing that he had a life buoy, even if it wasn’t filled with air. 

_“Fill it,”_ a voice hissed. “ _We aren’t meant to be alone.”_

His thumb hovered over the first number. He shouldn’t. The others hadn’t called him. He remembered the warmth of sunlight from his dream, and the desert fatigues hinted at the Middle East. That could mean her death happened hours ago. Still, with time zones, he wasn’t sure if he was the first to have seen the dream, or if the others had already seen her. They hadn’t called. But even if they did already dream of the new immortal, would they call anyway? 

_“You think too hard, Booker. Any harder and even immortality won’t be able to stop that headache.”_

“Shut up,” he hissed. He glared down at the phone. “Fuck it.” He jammed the call button and tucked the phone to his ear. The worst that could happen was that they didn’t answer. He could just leave a message. His throat dried at the thought. No contact for over a century, what was he going to say? Hello? Lovely weather we’re having? 

He was pulled from his musings by an automated voice. _“We’re sorry; you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again.”_

He blanched, pulling the phone from his ear. That couldn’t be right. He redialed, tearing his bottom lip open with his teeth as he received the same message. He glared down at the phone again, trying the second number, even knowing what would greet him. 

_“We’re sorry_ — _”_ He snapped the phone shut. 

_Disconnected._ It shouldn’t be; neither of them. Not for another two years, if even then, when he got a new phone. He scrambled back for his bag, digging through until he found his journal. He tore through pages of cramped pages until he found what he was looking for. He’d had a thought once that there was a possibility that this could happen, so he’d kept a log of all the other phone numbers they’d had before. 

He called the first number, typing the numbers carefully into the phone. 

_“We’re sorry, you have reached a number that has been disconnected_ — _”_

He cursed, trying another one. 

_“We’re sorry, you have reached a_ — _”_

“Come on, come on,” he whispered, punching in a new one. 

_“We’re sorry_ — _”_

 _“We’re sorry_ — _”_

 _“We’re sorry_ — _”_

He roared, throwing the phone at the wall. It met the plaster with a loud crack, his heart jumping at the sound. Immediately, he scampered over to the fallen device to check that it still worked. _Why bother? It’s useless,_ he wanted to scream. The life buoy wasn’t just empty of air. It wasn’t a buoy at all, just an anchor painted as one. _Disconnected._ Were they ever even connected? 

He pictured hands with an iron grip that had handed him the first set of numbers. The same hands that had left each number and phone after. _She had known._

She had known they weren’t real numbers, but she gave them anyway. 

_“What qualifies as an emergency?”_

_Nothing._

That was his answer, finally received, a century later. There was nothing that would warrant them falling under the same roof again.

_“We aren’t meant to be alone.”_

Suddenly, he was angry. Furious at himself, for even bothering to try and call. More so at her, for leading him on with false hope. He was even mad at the girl with the slit throat, for shattering the ramshackle foundations he’d tried to rebuild for himself. 

_“A warrior,”_ a steady voice and hands with an iron grip told him. 

_“A trouble maker,”_ sea glass eyes and a teasing smile corrected. 

“Does it matter?” he croaked, the phone still cupped in his hands. 

_“You can’t tell me you don’t remember what it was like. Whoever she is, she needs you, she needs_ — _”_

“Get out of my head!” His legs gave out from under him, and he slid down the wall to the floor. His body shook like it had when he’d first awoken. His thoughts roared like a wild tsunami, and his blood sang in excitement. There was no one else here; any decision he made, he was going to make alone. _And how well did that go last time?_

He needed to leave. It was a bit early for a change of scenery, but he could swing it. He needed to ignore sleep for as long as possible, until his body couldn’t even dredge up the will to even dream. He needed a drink. He needed _them,_ he needed anything _but_ them, he needed, he needed to… “I need to find her,” he admitted. 

Despite everything that had happened, leaving her out in the open was dangerous. For all of them. In fact, it was _because_ of everything that had happened, that made the issue more pressing. He needed to find her. _Before someone else does._

But it was more than that. He had to find her, because, well, he owed it to the man that had found him. He’d found him every time. When he was stuck in an endless death in Russia, when he was removed from the church after his wife’s funeral. When he’d drowned himself in the bottom of the bottle. 

He jumped to his feet, stumbling in a circle, unsure of what to do. How the hell was he going to find her? He’d never been the seeker before. All he had were his dreams, and by the level of adrenaline buzzing through his veins, he knew he wasn’t going to head to sleep anytime soon. 

He paused. He wouldn’t be going to sleep anytime soon, _unaided._

He thought of the gun stashed under his bed. _Too loud,_ he decided. The last thing he needed was the neighbors calling in his own murder. He couldn’t put his drug dealing landlady at risk. Instead, he thought of the bar he’d just left his shift at, right across the street. 

He imagined a sigh of disapproval but it was quickly cast aside as he jogged towards the door, barely stopping to slip his shoes on. 

He flung his door open and jumped down the stairs without bothering to close it. He stepped onto the street and barreled through traffic, horns blaring at him in protest. The wind had picked up, sweeping him towards the bar, and the air electrified, signaling an imminent storm. He could see the dim lighting from inside the pub and he sighed in relief that it was still open. 

He charged in, ignoring the questioning glares that he got. The bar was near empty, only left with the few regulars that he’d seen whenever he had to close the bar down.

“Hey, I thought you were off for the rest of the night. Are you feeling better?”

He groaned, ignoring Mila’s excited voice. _Don’t ask stupid questions,_ he wanted to shout at her. She bounced over to him, his glass tray wrapped in her arms. 

“Rhett?” 

He pushed her right out of the way, grabbing the nearest bottle from the shelf. He thumbed the cap off and tilted his head back, drinking deeply. The alcohol burned through his throat like lava, but he welcomed the pain. _I missed you, old friend,_ he thought deliriously. 

He could already feel a familiar numbness start to seep through his body. It may have been a century, but his body still remembered what was to come. He took another gulp. He’d drink until he slept or until he died of alcohol poisoning, whichever came first. It was of no consequence to him how he got there, as long as he did. 

He’d sleep and then he’d dream. And then he’d find the woman in fatigues. 

“What are you doing?” Mila tried to grab the bottle from his hand, but he raised it above his head, keeping it from her reach. 

“Getting off my ass,” he replied, knowing that his answer would be appreciated by sea glass eyes. He grabbed another swig, his eyes burning. 

“Rhett, you’re scaring me.” Mila grabbed him, her small hands gripping his arms. “Tell me what’s wrong!” 

“Let me go.” He shrugged out of her grasp, grabbing a few more bottles from the shelf, tucking them under his arm. 

“Whatever it is, you don’t have to go through this alone,” Mila continued. “You don’t think I can see the pain that you carry? You try and hide it but I can see right through you.” She cupped a hand against jaw, rubbing her thumb gently over his cheek. “Whatever it is, we can get through this together.” 

He laughed, giggled, really, at her naivety. “God, you’re gonna do this now?”

“I felt a connection with you the moment I started working here. You’re _lost_ , and you’re looking for someone,” she said, her eyes brimming with tears. “But I am too, and I think that I—”

“You’re right, Mila. I am looking for someone; but I can easily say it’s not you,” he grinned madly. “She’s young and she’s beautiful, but definitely not you. From what I can tell, she’s going to be a spitfire.” _A trouble maker._

“You’re not making any sense,” Mila scoffed. “Rhett, wait, I can—”

He laughed. “That’s not even my real name, kid. You don’t know me, you don’t know a damn thing about me.” It felt good to say it. Freeing. “This is a good lesson for you. You’re young, and you have your whole life ahead of you. Don’t waste it chasing old men around in bars. You’re worth more than that.” 

Mila paled, staring at him with doe eyes. “I don’t understand,” she whispered. 

He sighed. “You’ll get there,” he replied, patting Mila on the shoulder. He snagged another bottle with his free hand and walked towards the door. 

“What’s going on here? Where the hell do you think you’re going with those?” His boss stomped his way out from the back, waving his hands at the alcohol clutched against his chest. 

“I’m cashing in all the free drinks I never used,” he answered dryly. Before his boss could retort, he added, “And if this isn’t clear enough, I quit.” 

He didn’t stick around for the response, turning on his heel after giving the bar a sloppy salute. There was a commotion behind him but he ignored it, doing what he was always best at, and ran. Ran out of the door and back into the street, arms laden with the poisonous promise of what would most likely end in disaster. 

Booker tipped his face towards the sky, relishing in the droplets of rain that splattered on his skin, and laughed. He could have sworn he heard familiar laughing echo alongside him. 

_I’m coming, child. We aren’t meant to be alone._


	2. Chapter 2

“You’re quiet.” 

Nile shifted in her seat on the transport plane, eyes glued to her feet. 

“Why are you here, Sergeant?” The transport plane was fairly empty, the cabin only filled by Nile, the two men that had escorted her and her belongings to the plane, and surprisingly enough, Sergeant Tan. While the other two soldiers seemed more than content to leave Nile to her own devices and sit on the other end of the plane, only looking up to eye her warily once and a while, Tan didn't seem to get the message, having plopped into the seat right next to her. 

“I’m needed in Okinawa at the beginning of the month,” Tan explained. “But I had some leave sitting around, so I thought I might as well use it. You were heading to Europe anyway, so why not?” 

Nile frowned. “You just _decided_ to take leave?” 

“I was granted it,” Tan argued, but Nile could see the curl of her smile. Sergeant or not, she shouldn’t have been granted leave so quickly. Unless, of course, Tan managed to pull some strings, which seemed more than likely. Over half of the base owed Tan something; she was a notorious card shark, and an undefeated gambler. 

“Can I help you with something?” Nile grit out. 

“I was hoping to finish our conversation from earlier.” She was twirling a small pocket knife in her fingers, the blade dancing elegantly between her fingers. 

“I thought we’d already finished it.” 

Tan chuckled. “Don’t be foolish, Freeman. You know I have more questions.” 

“I have nothing more to say, ma’am.” Nile glared harder at her booted feet, resisting the urge to send Tan a dirty glare. 

“Everyone else on base seemed to have more than enough to make up for your silence. You’re quite the talk of the town.” 

Nile sighed. “I believe it was you, Sergeant, that mentioned that bases were nothing more than sorority houses.” 

Tan giggled. “I stand by that comment. Cesspools of gossip, they are.” 

“Listen, I’m not really in the mood to talk right now, so if you could—”

Suddenly, Tan grabbed her arm, twisting it so her palm was facing up. She dragged her knife across the skin of Nile’s forearm, Nile hissing as fresh blood bubbled to the surface of her skin. “Tan, what the fuck are you - oh my God.” 

She stopped struggling in Tan’s hold when she looked down at the wound. Right down at where broken skin started to close. 

Tan looked at her like she’d seen a ghost. “It’s true,” she breathed, looking down at Nile’s now fully healed arm in disbelief. “Ali was right.”

“Sergeant Tan, I—”

“The wound’s closing,” Tan continued and _God,_ she was right. Nile watched the skin knit back together until the skin remained completely unblemished, the only evidence of the cut at all being the fresh smear of blood on her arm that remained. 

Was that what happened with her neck? Tan was right when she said that everyone was talking about Nile. She’d already heard all the rumors before she’d left. All the side eyes and whispered comments about how she should have been dead. 

_“There’s not even a scratch, Nile.”_

What if there had been, but it had healed? 

Nile retched, and she caught Sergeant Tan stick her hat until her mouth before she was sick, coughing up hot bile. Tan rubbed a hand comfortingly along her back, and Nile squirmed under the touch. 

“What's going on back there?” One of the other soldiers had heard the commotion. 

“Newbie back here still expects first class,” Tan replied with a smirk, before Nile could even think of a lie. She heard laughter echo from the front of the plane, but Nile ignored it. Instead, she jerked out of Tan’s touch, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth while eyeing the other one, still slick with blood. Nile shuddered, wiping that hand on the leg of her pants. “What the hell is wrong with me?” she whispered. 

“Freeman, calm down—”

“ _Calm down?”_ Nile hissed, trying not to raise her voice too loud in case of prying ears of the men in the front of the plane. “You’re the one that did this!” she added, pointing to the knife still clutched in Tan’s hand. “Did you come just to prove a fucking point?”

Tan huffed. “Of course not, Freeman.” 

“Then why are you here?” 

Tan frowned, and her nose wrinkled in the way it did when she was thinking of what to say. “There’s no military base in Landstuhl, Freeman,” she answered finally. 

_Landstuhl, Germany,_ where she was being transferred. At least, that was what they’d told her before they escorted her to the transport plane. “Not a single branch has a base there. But yet they’re sending you there anyway.” 

Nile gulped. “And?” she asked shakily. 

“You seem content with not finding answers, so I’ve elected to find them for you. Why would they send you there if there’s no base?” 

“Testing,” Nile answered weakly. “They said I was going there for continued testing.” 

Tan paled and cursed something vicious sounding under her breath, in a tongue that Nile couldn’t identify. “Testing,” she spewed. “I fucking figured as much.” 

“Why do you care?” Nile scoffed. “You hadn’t so much as looked in my direction unless necessary, before all this.” 

Tan paused, looking vaguely shameful. _Good,_ Nile thought meanly. “I was… concerned,” Tan admitted softly, as if coming to the conclusion herself. “When they mentioned Landstuhl, I couldn’t get it out of my head. Like they were just shipping you off to some corner of the world to be forgotten.” 

“So?” 

“I knew someone once, that was forgotten about,” Tan continued. She twirled the knife carefully in her hands, and Nile was transfixed by the stain of blood on the tip. Tan’s tone was unsure in a way that she’d never heard before. 

Tan was never one to share her personal history, but there had been plenty of whispers on base about a sister who’d gone crazy. Was that who she was talking about? 

“She was different,” Tan continued. “And the people around her didn’t understand that, so they sent her away. And her family just left her there to rot.” If Nile didn’t know any better, she could have sworn she saw tears pooling in the corner of Tan’s eyes. Nile looked away, wishing she wasn't a part of this conversation. 

“I’m sorry,” she answered lamely, because what else could she say? 

“The reason I’m here is because they mentioned Landstuhl and I couldn’t help but think of her. And then of you,” Tan admitted. “That’s all.” 

“Is that what they’re going to do?” Nile whispered fearfully. “Are they going to leave me there to rot?” 

“I don’t know, Freeman. This is,” she said, gesturing to Nile’s arm. “not an easy situation. To be honest, I was really hoping that I was wrong.”

“Sergeant—”

“I’m sorry,” Tan interrupted. “I just, I need time to think, Freeman.” 

Tan unclipped her seatbelt and walked towards the front of the plane, leaving Nile alone. Nile hunched further in her seat, her hand gripped over the wound that wasn’t there.

* * *

* * *

_“She’s beautiful, is she not?”_

He hummed, pencil trailing over sketched eyes. The new one had already taken up a large chunk of his sketchbook. From what he had seen, she was always on the move, vibrant with life. The only time she hadn’t been was when she died, her throat cut clean across. 

He didn’t like drawing her that way, and had only stomached sketching her terrified face just once. The rest of them had been her in motion, twisting arms across her chest, walking determinedly with long legs, bobbing her head to music. 

_“She will make a wonderful muse for you.”_

“I will have no other muse but you, my heart.” 

_“Incurable romantic.”_

His pencil tip snapped from pressing too hard on the paper. The resulting line was jagged, ruining the picture. He sighed in frustration, throwing the sketchbook beside him, his gaze returning to the open window. 

Night was falling. He would have to sleep soon. 

He wondered what the girl was going to do. The first steps she made in this new life were very important. He still remembered his as if they were yesterday. 

He wondered what she was like. The proud tilt in her chin had been the first thing he’d noticed about her, and the first line he’d drawn on the page. _She’s scrappy,_ he thought. 

He’d learn over time, who she was. Get to know her from afar, like watching her through a television screen. How she laughed, what her favorite food was, how she fought. It would be enough, it _had_ to be. He might not see her in person, but the dreams she shared with him would but welcomed with open arms.

He only regretted that he couldn’t offer better dreams from him in return. His life had ended long before she was born, and it tore at his heart knowing that she’d never get a chance to see it. 

_“You could find her. Tell her in person.”_

He didn’t respond, looking back out of the window. It was chilly tonight, autumn hitting colder and earlier this year. He shivered at the breeze, but didn’t reach for a blanket. Suddenly, he didn’t much feel like sleeping tonight. The girl could wait another night. 

The cold will keep him awake.

 _“You promised.”_ The voice was harsher than the breeze. 

He laughed in an empty room. “So did you.”

* * *

* * *

Nile gasped awake, her body jolting in her seat. Where was she? _Who was she?_ was the real question, and she sighed in relief when she saw her own hands in her lap, and not those of a stranger. 

She’d been dreaming again, of the strangers. It wasn’t all the same, however. The tired man that had been in the bar was outside this time, seated comfortably on a motorcycle that tore through a street, a backpack slung over his shoulder. The woman had been in a room, glass bottle cradled in one hand, and a phone clutched in the other. She’d tipped her head back and drank deeply. 

Not all of them had changed, however. She’d barely caught the woman finishing her drink before she was back in the bedroom with the curly-haired man, staring blankly out of the window. Nile had wanted to talk to him, to ask him why he hadn’t moved, but when she opened her mouth it was filled with water and she choked, her vision blacking out as she was engulfed by an unseen ocean again. 

Nile shuddered and retched, the vile taste of the water sitting in the back of her throat. She leaned back and sighed, her head thumping against the familiar hull of a transport aircraft. She opened her eyes to see the place emptied, still on the ground. Well, almost empty. 

“Bad dreams?” 

Nile startled again, head snapping to where Sergeant Tan was sitting, watching her from across the plane. She was lounged in another seat, peeling an apple with a knife. The same knife that had cut through her skin just earlier that day. 

“Sergeant Tan,” Nile answered, voice hoarse. “Where are we?” 

“Camp Darby, right outside of Pisa. We’re refueling.” She popped a piece of apple in her mouth, eying Nile warily. “You were having a nightmare,” she said plainly. 

“I’m fine.” Nile stood, stretching her legs, rubbing at the back of her neck. “Why are you still here?”

“I told the gents to let you sleep,” Tan shrugged. 

“That doesn’t explain why you’re here.” 

Tan paused, and surprisingly enough, Nile saw a wave of uncertainty flash over the other woman’s face. “I needed some time to think.” 

Nile shifted on her feet, biting the inside of her lip. “So you said earlier.”

“It’s not every day you see someone regrow skin in front of you. Excuse me if I needed a few moments to process it.” Tan’s own posture seemed rigid, her face pinched in discomfort. Any other day, and Nile would have been proud to have managed to shake the otherwise unflappable Sergeant Tan. But now, watching those piercing eyes bore into her, Nile felt queasy and off kilter. 

“Did you tell the others?” Nile asked quietly. 

“No,” Tan replied, picking at the pants of her fatigues. “I didn’t say anything.” 

_Why?_ Nile wanted to ask, even as she felt relief cascade over her. She wasn’t sure why, it wasn’t like it would have mattered at the end of the day. Tan knew. The doctor that treated her in Afghanistan knew. And that had been enough to cause problems. 

“Sergeant, I—”

“You talk in your sleep,” Tan interrupted, looking at Nile with searching eyes. “Who were you talking to?” 

_Does it matter?_ she wanted to scream. “You wouldn’t believe me,” she answered instead. 

“After what I’ve already seen you do today, I think I can keep an open mind,” Tan answered dryly. 

Despite her sour mood, Nile laughed. The last thing she wanted to do was talk; it seemed like as she’s done in the past few days is talk. Talk about things that she herself still didn’t understand, leaving her frustrated and snappish. 

“I’ve been having these dreams.” 

“Oh?” 

“About… people.” 

“Corporal, you do realize that many people share the same affliction as you?”

“No, it’s not—,” she broke off with a sigh. “It’s of people I’ve never met before. Which I know also doesn't sound too off, but the dreams,” she continued, shaking her head. “They’re so real. I can hear the sounds around them, smell what they smell, see what they see. And I can feel what they do. I see them, and it’s like I’m right there with them. Worse, I feel like I _become_ them, stepping right into their shoes and picking up where they left off.” 

Tan was staring at her blankly, nodding slightly, like she was her therapist. Given what the pair had discussed over the past day, it seemed like an apt comparison. “Where are they, these people?” 

“I don’t know, all over.” 

“They’re not together?” 

Nile shook her head. “I don’t recognize any of the places; I thought your dreams could only be of places you’ve been to. I’ve never been anywhere that looked like what I’ve dreamed of.”

Tan hummed, tilting her head. “What do you think they mean?”

“What they mean?” Nile scoffed. “Why would I know? What, are you going to give me a lesson in dreams as well?”

“I’m gifted with the knowledge of many languages, Freeman,” Tan smiled. “But the language of dreams is not one of them. But if I was a betting woman, which I am, I would guess that it’s too coincidental for these dreams to be ignored. If they’re sticking with you, it seems that your brain is trying to tell you something.” 

Nile frowned, crossing her arms. “I’d rather my brain try and tell me something that I want to know, like what the hell is wrong with me?” 

Tan chuckled. “The mind works in mysterious ways.” 

Nile scoffed at the half answer. She didn’t push it, however, as she didn’t want to talk about the nightmares anyway. Instead, she gripped her arm, where there should have been a fresh wound. “What am I going to do, Sergeant?” 

Tan gave her a soft look, her eyes saddened. Nile wondered if she was thinking about her sister. She wasn’t sure why she’d bothered to ask Tan; it wasn’t like she could help. Maybe it was because Tan always seemed to have an answer for everything else. She’d take any sort of answer, even if it was a lie. 

Tan took a deep breath, nodding to herself. “I do,” she answered. She stood, tucking her knife back in her fatigues. “Come with me.” Tan turned and walked down the gangway, stopping only to swing a duffel bag over her shoulder, out towards the base. Nile was helpless but to follow. 

The air was so much different here, not like the dry air of the Middle East. It was vibrant and heavy, carrying the aroma of the coast with it. She’d never been to Italy before; she’d barely been in Europe in any sense except for a layover when she’d first deployed. Nile had talked about going back for vacation once, imagining backpacking through ancient cities with Jay and Dizzy after their tour was over. That clearly wasn’t going to happen. Maybe they’d visit her when she was in Germany. 

Nile thought of their faces in the medical tent, the same faces worn when she’d picked up her belongings from their shared bunk. _Unlikely,_ she scoffed. She doubted she’d see them again anytime soon, if at all. 

Nile shook her head from her thoughts, scampering after Tan. 

Camp Darby looked small, compared to the other camps she had been before. Long strings of apartments and row houses were lined up neatly, broken up by a smattering of administrative buildings and hangers. 

“This way,” Tan commanded, jerking her head towards one of the standalone buildings. Nile followed the linguist into the building, watching as Tan checked the hallway like she was breaching an insurgent’s base. Upon finding the hallway clear, Tan pushed her into the nearest door, leading to a small supply closet. 

Tan shut the door behind them, dropping her duffle bag off her shoulder and opened it, digging through the contents.

“Here, these should fit you alright,” Tan said, tossing some clothes from the bag into Nile’s arms. “Change into these.” 

“Tan, what are you—”

“Change into these,” Tan said again, giving Nile a stern look. “I’ll be right back.” 

Tan was gone in a flash and Nile found herself obeying orders on command. She folded her fatigues neatly, slipping into the fresh fair of civvies. The shoes were snug and the pants a bit short, and Nile realized that Tan had given her her own clothes. _What the hell was happening?_

She found herself hunching over, her skin prickling in discomfort in the clothes. It had been a while since she’d worn anything but her uniform, and now she felt naked without it on. She pressed a hand down on the folded clothes, realizing they were the only ones she had left. Her other pair had been disposed of. She hadn’t asked for an explanation when she’d been told. They had been covered in blood, _her blood._ They weren’t exactly salvageable after that. 

Her musings were interrupted by Tan busting back through the door, a smaller backpack on her shoulder. “Here,” she said, handing it to Nile. Nile took it robotically, eyes caught on the item in Tan’s other hand. A pair of car keys. 

“Sergeant?” 

Tan tried to hand here the keys. “You need to leave.” 

Nile frowned. “What?” 

“You,” Tan repeated, pressing the car keys into Nile’s hands. “Need to leave.” 

“You can’t be serious.” 

“I’m always serious, Freeman.” 

“You expect me to leave?”

“I expect you to _run,”_ Tan corrected. “The keys are from a visitor's car, so you need to move fast before they realize it’s missing. There’s some cash in the bag, and another change of clothes, but that’s all I could manage to throw together.” 

“Wait, Sergeant, I can’t—”

“Stop thinking about it too hard, Freeman. There’s no other option, here. Not other than getting back on that plane and heading to Germany.” 

“Why are you doing this?” 

Tan paused, her breath catching in her throat. “You know what they’ll do, Nile. You know what testing means.” 

Nile trembled at the threat, deciding to focus on how softly Tan whispered her name instead, kind and empathetic. “I didn’t ask for this,” she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I didn’t want this, I didn’t—”

“I know, I know,” Tan replied, small hand rubbing Nile’s shoulder in comfort. “You didn’t choose this, but you have to deal with the hand you’ve been given.” 

“By running?” Nile scoffed. “You really think I’m going to get far?” 

“Probably not,” Tan admitted. “But you deserve the chance anyway.” 

“I don’t know what to do,” Nile replied. “I don’t know where to go, how to get home—”

“You can’t go home, that’s the first place they’ll look. You wouldn't make it through the airports, anyway.” 

“Sergeant, I—”

“Use the money, find a hostel,” Tan interrupted. “Get your head straight and figure out your next move. Head south, head away from the coast, keep your head down and _blend in_. It’s no different than your training in enemy territory.” 

“But this isn’t enemy territory, this is Italy!” Nile argued. “I’d be running from the _Marines,_ I’d be running from us!”

“There is no us, anymore. It’s you against them.” 

“Oh, God,” Nile moaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “I can’t do this,” she admitted. 

“It doesn’t matter. You have to, anyway.” 

Nile nodded, shaking like a leaf. Tan was right, like she always was. She knew she didn’t have a chance in hell to make it far. If anything, running would make it worse, but the end result would be the same. She’d end up in some “facility” in Germany, so why not enjoy the freedom while she had it? “Okay,” she whispered, mainly for herself. “Okay, okay, I’ll go.” 

“There’s the fighter,” Tan grinned at her. “I thought I’d left her in Afghanistan.” 

“Still here, ma’am.” 

It was the right thing to say. Tan nodded at her, her eyes gleaming with pride, her smile growing when Nile took the keys from her hand. “The lot is in the back. Keep your head down to avoid the cameras. When you leave, take a left. The gate guard doesn’t know to look out for your face, so act natural and you’ll be fine,” Tan continued. “There’s a train station in the opposite direction. Ditch the car and then double back to the station, you understand?” Nile nodded, holding on to every word. “After that, you’re on my own. Make me proud, alright?” 

“Yes ma’am,” Nile answered firmly. She tugged the backpack more securely over her shoulder. The car keys burned in her hands. 

“One more thing,” Tan added. She fished out the pocket knife before tucking it into Nile’s pocket. “Just in case.” 

Nile nodded, her body numbing. She let Tan push her towards the door. Nile eyed it warily, her body thrumming with adrenaline. 

“Sergeant?” Nile turned to look over her shoulder. “Thank you.” 

_“Go,”_ Tan repeated, shooing towards the door. “And good luck.”

* * *

* * *

Someone was following her. 

At least, that was what she had convinced herself. Nile had often scoffed at horror movies, and the six sense that the ridiculous characters claimed to have when they were being stalked by equally ridiculous serial killers. 

But ever since she’d left Tan at Camp Darby, there had been a pit in her stomach, steadily growing with each passing hour. She’d made it over twenty-four hours, but the thought of that being an accomplishment made her stomach turn. She’d turned left as instructed, ditched the car as instructed, even found a dingy hostel as instructed. 

But she hadn’t managed to sleep. The looming threat of nightmares and soldiers had been enough to keep her awake. Instead, she’d left the hostel to roam the streets of Pisa like a zombie. Now, mid morning, she was sat at an empty outdoor café, nursing a coffee that had turned cold hours ago.

She shouldn’t even _be_ here. Not in Italy. But she shouldn't be in Germany either. She should still be in Afghanistan, alive and with her friends. None of this should have happened. 

Hair prickled on the back of her neck, and Nile shifted further into her seat, eyes darting around wildly. Someone was watching her. It was probably military personnel, coming to drag her back to base and slapping her with a court martial. 

_“There is no us, anymore. It’s you against them.”_

If Tan were to be believed, they probably wouldn’t even go with the court martial and just sweep everything under the rug, sending Nile to Germany to be studied. It sounded completely outlandish, but there were plenty of whispers of what the United States government did when no one was watching. It was because of all these theories, that Nile had even thought Tan’s worries promising. 

She could imagine Tan’s disapproving frown, glaring at her from where she was slumped in the café chair. _Run,_ Tan had said. _Blend in._ She had barely accomplished either. In fact, Nile was still close enough to the base that she could hear the roar of the plane’s occasionally. She wasn’t sure what Tan was expecting when she’d pushed Nile out the door. She certainly wasn’t Jason Bourne. 

In the heat of the moment, the thought of running seemed with the perfect answer. Now, after the adrenaline had worn off, she realized how foolish the endeavor was. And, knowing that it wasn’t going to be successful, it hadn’t seemed worth the effort. 

“You look like you need a drink much stronger than that.” 

The voice was quiet, the accented English coming out more like a gruff than anything else. Nile shrunk further into her chair, hoping that the man would take the hint and leave her alone. He didn’t, much to her chagrin. Instead, she heard a familiar sloshing, and looked up to catch him dangling a flask in her face. “Want some?” 

Nile turned her nose, smelling more of the alcohol radiating from him than from the container. “No thanks,” she answered, shoving the flask out of her face. “Leave me alone.” 

“No can do, I’m afraid.” 

So she was right, it was someone from the base. The homeless drunk disguise was a bit much, but what the hell did that matter if - she froze, thoughts slamming to a halt when she caught the man’s gaze. 

This man was not military. The curved slump of his shoulders, unkempt beard, and greasy hair were evidence enough. No, he was someone else. Someone she shouldn’t know, but recognized all the same. 

She’d seen him before, in her dreams. Cleaning glasses at a bar, zipping down a tight alleyway on a motorcycle. “You,” she breathed, not really sure what she wanted to say. 

“Yes, me.” He shot her a lazy grin. “And you. Thanks for sticking around, you made this very easy on me. Not sure why the others always made such a fuss over this part; finding you was a cakewalk.” 

Nile blinked, her brow furrowing. “I’m not following.” 

The man turned, his hand gesturing to the familiar landmark in the distance, the Leaning Tower of Pisa looming in the skyline. “Believe it or not, there’s only a few of these out there. Lucky for me.” 

“I-I don’t—”

“I saw you,” he continued slowly, tapping a finger against his temple. “When I was, uh, sleeping. I dreamed of you here.” 

He dreamed of her? 

“Yes,” he answered, and Nile startled, unaware she’d said it out loud. “We dream of each other. They stop when we meet.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Go away,” she snapped. 

He ignored her request, tapping his fingers against his chest nervously. “A slit throat,” he said suddenly. “Tough way to go.” 

Ice poured through her veins. _“What?”_ she whispered, voice hollow. 

“The worst part is choking on your own blood,” the man replied, eyes far too knowing for Nile’s liking. “You don’t realize how much blood you actually have until you’re forced to swallow it.” 

“Get the hell away from me,” she hissed, reaching down to grab the bag Tan had given her, planning on making a run for it herself. 

A large hand grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks. “That’s how you died, kid. I know it, because I saw it.” _You didn’t, you didn’t!_ she wanted to scream. “You were _dead,_ and now you’re not.” 

She thought of the way her arm had healed in the plane just hours before. The same way her throat had healed just the day before. “How do you know?” she asked weakly.

“Listen, I’d love to stick around and chat, but we should leave.” 

“What, why?” 

“Because this was too easy,” he explained, shaking his head. “It should have taken me longer to find you, but you’re just sitting here like it’s any other day. I thought you were in the military, but I guess I was wrong.”

“No, I am. I’m a Marine.” 

“You were deployed?” 

Nile nodded. 

“Then how the hell did you end up here?” 

“Um, it’s a long story,” Nile answered quietly. “I was supposed to be transferred to Germany, but that didn’t really work out. I sort of, uh, left.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “You _left?”_

Nile just shrugged. 

“You mean to tell me you just walked off a military base, and they just _let_ you?”

“I wouldn’t necessarily say _let.”_

The man opened his mouth to respond, his eyes wide with disbelief. Instead of answering her, however, he burst out in raucous laughter, his head tipping back in the afternoon sun. 

“Why the hell are you laughing?”

“Nothing, it’s, uh, I think we’re going to get along just fine,” he smiled down at her, before looking back up at the sky. She wondered what he was looking for. “And also because I knew this was too good to be true. It’s a miracle they haven’t found you yet, but we shouldn’t push our luck. Come on,” he said, grabbing at her hand. 

_“Miracles are bad things. Because they don’t come free.”_ Nile shivered in her seat, frowning at how Tan seemed to be becoming a permanent feature in her subconscious. 

Nile slapped it away. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” 

“Good instincts, but trust me on this one—”

 _“Trust no one,”_ Tan’s voice filtered through her head. The knife that she’d given her felt heavy in her pocket. 

“I don’t know who the hell you are,” Nile hissed, jumping up from her seat. “For all I know you actually are with the Marines, and you’re here to bring me to Germany for testing. Well, tough shit, buddy, I’m not—”

“ _Testing?_ ” Nile paused at the man’s outburst. He had turned completely ashen, his eyes widening drastically. “They were bringing you to Germany for testing?” 

Nile nodded. “Yeah.” 

The man cursed under his breath before taking a long drink from his flask. He kept drinking until it was empty, shaking the container until the final drops spilled onto his tongue. “They saw you die?” he asked, turning towards her, his face suddenly furious. “They know about you?”

“I think so, yeah. The doctor on our base, she was the one that put in the request for my transfer, and—”

 _“Fuck, fuck, fuck,”_ he hissed, tugging at the loose strands of his hair, pacing wildly next to her. “I knew this was too easy, I _knew_ it.” He turned back to face Nile. 

“Wait, how bad is it—”

 _“How bad is it?”_ The man scoffed, his voice shrill. “The fucking government knows you’re immortal. _Fucking stupendous,_ is what this is.” 

“Wait, _immortal,”_ Nile blanched. “You can’t be—”

“We need to leave, now. _God_ , the others, how the hell am I going to—”

He paused mid sentence, his mouth frozen open as he stared at her. His head tilted slightly in thought, but before Nile could begin to question him he charged at her, wrapping massive hands around her shoulders and shaking her. He shouted at her in French, and while she couldn’t understand the language, the vicious tone of the words was enough to have her flinching. 

“What the - get the fuck off me!” she yelled, tugging ineffectively at the man’s iron grip. 

“Shut up,” he hissed at her in English, only to go back to shouting at her in French. 

“I don’t even speak French, what you are trying to—”

“I’m not talking to you!” His eyes were blazing as they stared into hers. His mouth moved quickly, spewing unknown commands. Regardless of what this man seemed to know, he was definitely unhinged. She struggled in his grasp again but he held tight, speaking even faster, until she caught a word she recognized. “Goussainville,” he said loudly, over pronouncing each syllable. _“Goussainville.”_

“Goussainville,” she repeated slowly. “That’s a place, right?” 

“Yes, one that we’re going to.” 

“Oh, you’re talking to me again?” Nile scoffed. “Or the imaginary people your drunk ass can apparently see.” 

The man laughed again, eyes crinkling in delight. “Trouble maker,” he nodded, as if confirming something. The way he said it, though unlike his previous outburst, made Nile think he was saying it for someone else. Who he was saying it for, Nile didn’t really care. She was getting real sick of asking questions. 

“Oh, I’ll show you fucking trouble—”

“They’re not imaginary,” the man cut her off, hands raised in surrender. “I wasn’t. The others aren’t either.”

“What?” 

“You’ve been having dreams, yes? Of other people; people you haven’t seen before, myself included?” 

“And?” 

“And if you’re dreaming of them, then they’re dreaming of you.” 

_Right,_ he had said that. He’d been dreaming of her in Italy, and that’s how he was able to find her. So the others - the tall woman and the sad man in the chair, they saw her too? “They’re dreaming of me,” she repeated with a frown. 

“Yes. They’ll dream and then they’ll wake up and _go to Goussainville.”_ He said in the same tone she’d heard from countless commanding officers, with no room for questioning. “Because this shit,” he continued in English, waving a beat up flip phone in her face, “is a red herring, and fuck you _so_ very much for that.” 

“You’re insane,” Nile said, shaking her head. “They aren’t actually here—”

“You haven’t _seen_ insane yet,” he snorted. “Come to France,” he added in a hard voice. “Or don’t, I don’t really care. You know why?” He grabbed one of Nile’s hands and waved it in the air. “Because I have a road map. And if you don’t show up, I’ll come fucking find you.” 

“What are you—”

“You heard her,” he snapped, getting close to her face. Nile flinched at the tone, the man switching between talking with her and apparently the others in her dreams quickly, giving Nile whiplash. “The military knows, and they’ll be coming after her. This isn’t a problem that’s going to go away, so get off your ass and help me _deal with it_.” 

He stepped away from her suddenly, pacing back and forth. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said, focus back on Nile. “I know I don’t sound—,” he broke off with a sigh. _Sane?_ Nile thought. “I don’t really have a plan. I’m flying by the seat of my pants, here.” 

“Really? I couldn’t tell,” Nile answered dryly. 

The man chuckled madly, rubbing a hand over his tired face. “I never really had the opportunity to yell uninterrupted before. Uh, siblings, you know?” 

“I do actually.” Her heart panged at the thought of her brother. _God,_ when was she going to see him again? _Would she ever?_ She sucked in a sharp breath, blinking tears out of her eyes. _No, not here._ One step at a time, one problem at a time. Problem one: the crazy man in front of her. 

Nile looked at him again, and he stared back, arms crossing. “You feel better?” she asked. 

“Yeah, actually,” he chuckled. “You don’t really realize how much can get pent up over a century.” 

“A _century,_ what the—”

“I know you have a lot of questions,” he said with a sigh. “I know you’re scared and not a lot makes sense right now, but we need to leave.”

Nile shook her head again. “I can’t, I—”

“Alright, fine,” the man interrupted. He grabbed Nile’s coffee cup to the ground, the ceramic shattering on the ground. He grabbed a shard and ran it across his arm, the same way Tan had done to her yesterday. And just like her arm, the cut healed almost instantly. “What the fuck,” she whispered. 

_“Please,”_ the man pleaded. “I’m like you, kid. I have no reason to lie to you. If you stay here, they _will_ find you. I don’t think I need to tell you how bad it will be for you if they do.” 

_No, he didn’t._ He thought of how Tan had talked about Germany. Remembered her face when she mentioned her sister. At the end of the day, what choice did she have? Wait here for the military to find her and ship her off to Germany, or go with this deranged man and his insane ramblings. Knowing her luck, he would just murder her in an alley. However, given recent proceedings, it seemed that she was tough to kill. 

She looked at the large man again, feeling the heat from Tan’s knife again. _Lesser of two evils,_ she thought. She’d take her chances. 

“Nile,” she said. “My name’s Nile.” 

“Nile. It suits you,” he nodded. 

“Well, it’s my name, so.” 

The man grinned at her. “Booker.” He paused, pointing at his chest. “You can call me Booker.” 

“Your mom named you Booker?” 

“No, it’s not my birth name,” Booker laughed. “This one just suited me better.” There was clearly a story there, but when Booker smiled at her, it was tinged with sadness, so Nile decided not to comment on it. 

“So, we’re heading to Goussainville?” she asked instead. 

Booker blinked, the tightness in his face disappearing. “You’ll come?” 

Nile shrugged. “I don’t have much else going on at the moment. And besides, it’s better than waiting for the government to come dissect me.” 

Booker laughed again. “That’s the spirit, kid.”

**Author's Note:**

> Welp. Back on my bullshit.


End file.
